


Breaking Your Own Heart

by bottombeeb



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 08:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19787407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottombeeb/pseuds/bottombeeb
Summary: "We both sipped coffee, daintily at first as if not to disturb the silence even though our eyes seemed to be screaming at each other.”Drabble #4 of our Ot3 Drabble Collection





	Breaking Your Own Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Loyalties Among Thieves by New Politics

The silence was nearly suffocating, but neither of them dared break it. Patrick looked at Pete over his cup of coffee (coffee, not tea. He needed something stronger that morning), and Pete just looked back. They said nothing but their eyes were screaming at each other with words both said and unsaid, the words of last nights fight ringing in Patrick's ears. 

They've fought before. They'll fight again. But this feels different. 

_ Why don't you let yourself be loved? _ he nearly screams, silent and heavy. 

Patrick can read Pete's response in his eyes, as clear as if he had spoken them aloud. 

_ Because I ruin love. And I won't let myself ruin you.  _

It had started last night with a confession. Pete's an amazing guy despite his faults (or maybe because of his faults), and it was only a matter of time before Patrick fell for him. It was a love and a weight Trick had carried with him for so long before it had finally become too much for him. Last night he had confessed, and he wasn't prepared for the response. 

He had been braced for a rejection, hell he had expected it. The fear is what had made him hide for so long. But he also knew there was a possibility that Pete might feel the same way. The hope is what made him decide to come out. Either way, he was prepared. What he wasn't prepared for was for Pete to not want to love him. But to love him back anyway.

Tilting his mug back, Patrick finishes what’s left of his coffee. Black, because he needed something as bitter as he feels. He pushes back from the table without a word, the scratch of the chair legs against the floor loud and abrasive in the silence, and heads for the kitchen. He remembers their fight last night, the words and the yelling, the anger which burned bright in each of them. He remembers grabbing a plate and shattering the ceramic on the floor in anger. Really he had wanted to throw it at Pete, had even picked it up with that intention, but he wouldn't hurt Pete no matter how much he himself had been hurting.

The floor is clear of debris, but Patrick wouldn't care even if he stepped on something. He's finding it hard to care about anything with the insurmountable tension between him and his friend. Best friend. Just friends. What does it matter what they call themselves ?

He's normally a damn messy guy, but he heads right to the sink and picks up a sponge. Washing out his mug gives him a chance to be alone, to focus on something else, to be away from Pete. He scrubs the dark stain of his coffee off of the cup with a bit more pressure and intensity than is needed. The hand that comes to rest suddenly on his shoulder is heavy and unwelcome, and he can't stop himself from shrugging it off and turning away from its owner. He hears his name spoken, breaking that tense silence, but he doesn't answer, just grabs a dish towel and starts drying the mug in his wet and shaky hands. He's not trying to give the silent treatment, he's just having difficulty thinking of things to say. Everything there is to say has either been said (or screamed) or will remain unsaid.

Patrick takes his time drying the mug and puts it back into the cabinet, searching for words but not finding them. He shuts the cabinet gently and finally turns back to Pete. The look on his face makes Trick's stomach twist. He looks like he's waiting for a punch, a fight, another screaming match. Patrick sighs and shakes his head. 

"I don't wanna fight, Pete," he says, sounding defeated.

Pete doesn't look convinced, and Patrick wishes wishes wishes so much that Pete would crack a smile. Would smirk or grin. Would make a joke. Would laugh at him. Would say something stupid. But he doesn't. 

"I just want to move on and pretend this never happened," Trick explains, heart feeling heavy with his words.

Pete gives a smile but it's all wrong. It's small and sad and his eyes look tired. 

"I don't think you'll be able to do that," Pete says, and Patrick hates that he's right.

Patrick turns so he can lean against the counter, staring down at his feet and trying to keep his breathing level. They both know the truth in Pete's words. Patrick can't turn his back on this and expect his life to go on the same way. Pete's different, he's used to being hurt and hurting others, he's used to burning bridges, and he's used to moving on. 

"Why couldn't you have just lied? For my sake," Patrick asks, eyes still focused on his socks, "I was prepared for a rejection, I could have handled that."

Silence answers his question, but he doesn't look up, and with a little jolt he realizes these aren't his socks he's staring at on his feet. They're a pair of Pete's, a little symbol of how intertwined their lives are. 

"Because it's better this way, isn't it? Knowing for sure it won’t ever happen, that I won’t suddenly wake up and have feelings and change everything for you,” Pete explains and Patrick shuts his eyes at the words, “this way you know you can move on. Find some guy or girl who makes you happy and date them without wondering.”

“Is that supposed to be a good thing?” he asks, feeling bitterness on his tongue, but managing to keep it out of his words.

Again, there’s a beat of silence, and this time when Pete speaks, his voice is hesitant and unsure.

“Isn’t it?”

Patrick blinks his eyes open again and looks over at Pete, the guy standing there looking lost and nervous. He knows what he’s trying to get across, what he’s trying to give him. It’s closure, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. Closure would be a ‘No, I don’t love you’, not a ‘Yes, I love you, but I won’t be with you’.

“No, it’s not,” Patrick responds, voice sounding strained and desperate, “why would I want someone else when there’s you?”

He realizes after the words leave his lips how pathetic it sounds, and he runs his fingers through his hair, averting his gaze again. He wants to tell Pete he’s being selfish, but he knows he’s being selfish too. God he just doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how he’s going to live next to this guy and pretend he doesn’t know. Pretend he doesn’t feel what’s between them.

When he finally looks back at Pete, he looks confused, like Patrick’s words just don’t add up. Trick wishes he could show him what he sees, could force Pete to see his own self worth. Because Pete is the most amazing person Patrick has ever met. And the idea of Pete wanting him, but never being with him, it’s too much to handle. He has so much inside of himself. Love, anger, frustration, sadness, that he doesn’t know what to do with it right now. 

Without thinking, he pushes away from his spot leaning against the counter and approaches Pete, stepping close and finding the taller boy’s face with his hand. He leans in but stops just shy of actually kissing him. His hand is shaking and so are his lips, anticipation and want and heartbreak filling him up.

“Tell me no,” he says, voice soft and shaky, ready to break at any minute, “tell me not to kiss you.”

He needs Pete to push him away. He needs Pete to say no. He needs Pete to put an end to all of this. He needs Pete to reject him. He needs Pete to… He needs Pete.

“Kiss me,” is Pete’s breathless reply, and there’s no control left in Patrick to save them.

Trick presses their lips together, scared but sure, and immediately it feels like everything is in bloom inside of him. Pete’s lips are different than Patrick thought they would be. They’re smaller but softer, and he tastes sweet somehow, despite the bitter coffee they had been drinking. His heart races and his stomach flips, feeling a rising need fill his chest and tangle with a stupid stupid sense of happiness and hope. He doesn’t have the strength to tell his heart what his brain knows; that this is the only time it’s ever going to happen. They’ll kiss and then it’ll be over, gone before it ever was. But Pete’s lips, the way he kisses, the feeling of him kissing back with strength and passion and need...God, it feels like coming home.

Patrick doesn’t know how long they stay like that, kissing desperately in the middle of their shared kitchen, the kitchen they fought and yelled and screamed and broke stuff in last night. Eventually, they break away for breath, and Patrick hates himself as he notices how broken his breathing sounds. He can’t handle this, can’t handle Pete so close, with the heat of Pete’s hands on his hips and warm breath against his lips. He needs air, he needs to breathe. Trick’s hand drops from where it was still holding Pete’s face, pulling away from that touch and that heat despite his need to be closer. He turns towards the doorway and takes a step away, ready to run, but he doesn’t get far because there’s a hand closing around his wrist, and a desperate voice telling him to wait.

Patrick looks back at his friend, reading the confliction and the turbulence in the older boy’s gaze. He waits, like Pete asked him to, but nothing comes. No words, no actions, nothing. Just Pete watching him, looking unanchored and adrift. Patrick sighs, feeling stupid for thinking anything would change, but before he can pull from Pete’s grip and put space between them, he feels Pete’s hand slide down to his, interlocking their fingers hesitantly.

“Maybe…” Pete says, slow and unsure, “maybe I was wrong.”

Hope soars in Patrick’s chest, but he snubs out the flame as soon as it starts. He had felt the lightness of hope last night, before everything came crashing down and Pete had broken his heart harder than he thought possible.

“Pete…” he warns, knowing he can’t take another let down.

He looks like he’s searching for words, staring at their intertwined hands as Patrick gives him time to continue. It’s strange, Pete having to find his words what with how he never shuts the fuck up about 90% of the time. Then all of a sudden, he’s looking up with a little smile on his face.

“You’re wearing my socks,” he says simply, and Patrick rolls his eyes.

“Yeah well, they were in my room, so whose fault is that?” Patrick asks, knowing fully well that it’s probably his.

Pete smiles at him, and it’s the first time since before their fight that Patrick’s seen it reach his eyes. He doesn’t know what it means, but he knows he wants Pete to keep smiling like that. Pete closes the distance between them, and with his free hand reaches out for Patrick’s face, a mirror of his own action from earlier.

“Kick my ass if I break your heart, okay?” Pete says, a laugh and tease in his voice, and Patrick’s heart skips.

They make eye contact, and neither of them are yelling anymore. There’s no animosity left. Pete looks scared, and his eyes seem to nearly shake with it, but there’s something less guarded there. Patrick knows in that moment what Pete’s trying to say. He’s giving in, he’s giving it a chance. Giving them a chance. Trick knows he won’t say it aloud, too scared of breaking it all down, but his eyes are clear as day. 

“Oh I will,” Patrick says with a roll of his eyes, even if it’s a lie.

Pete laughs, loud and happy, and Patrick smiles back, heart sore but racing. Pete looks like he has something else to say, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, just leans in and presses their lips together again. He doesn’t have to say it. His kiss says it all.


End file.
